


Caged Bird

by TheFireInHerEyes



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Bucky Barnes Feels, Bucky Barnes Has Issues, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Bucky Barnes's Metal Arm, Bucky Barnes-centric, Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Captivity, Eventual Smut, F/M, Gen, Kidnapping, Mind Control, Mind Games, Mind Manipulation, Possessive Behavior, Protective Bucky Barnes, Protectiveness, Romantic Soulmates, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Soulmates, Super Soldier Serum, Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-31
Updated: 2019-08-18
Packaged: 2020-07-28 01:20:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 18,493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20055697
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheFireInHerEyes/pseuds/TheFireInHerEyes
Summary: You were in it together, you and him. The Winter Solider, forced together by fate, and the hands of Hydra.He was your soulmate and you were his. And that made you a tool in their eyes, a means to control their soldier.If he failed, you were punished. If he succeeded, he got you. If he tried to leave, you would be killed. Your life was entirely in his hands.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is my very first attempt at writing for Bucky Barnes/The Winter Soldier, so please be gentle!

  
The caged bird sings with a fearful trill,

  
of things unknown, but longed for still,

  
and his tune is heard on the distant hill,

  
for the caged bird sings of freedom.

  
-Maya Angelou

  
\---  
No one was truly free. That is the great lesson, that is what you learned from them. They controlled everything they touched, their reach slipping beyond borders, across oceans, through the social classes.

  
They had decided, they could decide, who lived, who died, who suffered. They had agents working behind the scenes of politics, behind the faces of major companies.

  
They controlled everything, they controlled you. They controlled you from the moment you were born, from the moment his name and his birth year were inked on your skin as a soulmate mark.

  
You were watched, you were monitored.

  
You were bound to a man you had never met, your soul was intertwined with a man who was born in 1917, an impossible and bewildering amazement.

  
How could your soulmate be a man who was born in 1917, when you were born in 1994? How could you have a soulmate who would be well into his old age, possibly dying when you were in your prime?

  
Your question of how, and why, was never answered in the way you imagined. You never got to meet your soulmate, James, in a way you had hoped.

  
Because from the moment you were born, your destiny had been controlled. Without you even realizing it, without you even truly being aware, you were marked special, a tool for future use in their plans.

  
Your soulmate mark had set you apart, made you different. Though for a great deal of your life, until you turned 25, you greatly ignored his name and birth year inked on your skin.

  
You thought you had freedom, you thought you had choices. You thought you were unnoticeable.   
And you were dead wrong.

  
“Welcome to your cage, little bird.” A voice you had never heard before, laden with a thick accent, cooed in a condescending way. “You will save Hydra well, you will serve the soldier well, little dove.”

  
How wrong you were.


	2. Chapter 2

There is no greater agony than bearing an untold story inside you.

  
\- Maya Angelou

  
\---

  
There was nothing said between the men who stood on the other side of the glass, watching the soldier as he lay strapped down to the metal chair, his arms in restraints that wouldn’t be able to hold him if he really wanted out.

  
“How is the Asset today?” The doctor in charge glanced down at the file in his hands, a woman’s name scrawled on the tab, along with a birth date.

  
“He is growing more agitated, more hesitant to follow orders.” The doctor hummed, his lips pursed as he watched a mouth guard being shoved into his mouth, a metal restraint holding his head down.

  
The machine whirred as it powered up, the sound reaching them in the other room. The two men watched the soldier as he lay against the chair, metal arm glistening as a stream of light hit the artificial appendage, the red star illuminated on the bicep.

  
“Tell me about the woman.” The doctor leaned in, his nose nearly pressed against the glass as he watched the Asset groan and writhe against the chair, the veins on his neck popping as the electricity, the scrubbing of his memories, coursed through him.

  
“The woman,” he opened the file, a picture attached with a series of stats lay inside. “is Y/N L/N from Brooklyn, New York. Y/N was born in the west coast, a small town in Washington. Parents divorced at age 4, moved to Brooklyn when Y/N was 5.”

  
The doctor nodded, waiting for him to continue. “Y/N is 25 years old, works as a waitress in a bar. She lives in a small 560 sq. ft apartment in Brooklyn, attends a few classes a week for a degree in early childhood development.”

  
“Single?” the doctor briefly, for a split second, looked at the asset. The machine was shut down, his chest rising and falling with each shuddery breath, ragged.   
“Yes sir.” The doctor paused as the asset seemed to put up a fight, his eyes wild.

  
“The asset sir…” The doctor grabbed the file from the man, looking it over with a thorough gaze.

  
“Sir?” The doctor flipped the page in the file, the photograph of your soulmate mark, ‘James – 1917’ clipped to the page.

  
“Isn't it funny, the pull between soulmates? You can go your entire life without feeling the effects of your destined mate, and then one day you meet.” The doctor closed the file and handed it back to his assistant.

  
“I’m not following, sir?” The doctor watched the soldier as he was lugged out of the room, passed out from being beaten, or knocked out from drugs.

  
“And something seems to click.” The doctor crossed his arms over his chest. “There may be another way to control him yet.”

  
He moved from the room they were standing in, the assistant following the greying doctor as he made his way to the cryogenic chamber, stepping through two different security areas.

  
“We may have an unconventional way to control the Asset.” The doctor tossed the file on the desk at the side of the room, the unclipped pictures sliding out from the beige file.

  
“What is this? Who is this?” The doctor recognized one of the agents in the room, Rumlow, his arms crossed over his broad chest.

  
The doctor moved his attention from the agent, to the director of the program, and the lead scientist in charge of the system that kept the soldier cryogenically frozen.

  
“This is the face that belongs to the name attached to his wrist.” The doctor spared a single glance toward the pictures scattered on the table, raising his head again.

  
“His soulmate. And I believe, that given the right conditions, the woman would help us further control the soldier.” The doctor moved to the front of the room, near the cryogenic chamber.

  
“Through the process of imprinting, like a baby duck on its mother, I believe the soldier would be willing to risk life and limb to protect the woman he is destined for.” He could feel their eyes on him, watching him as he stood with his hands behind his back.

  
“Would it work? The process?” he was surprised by the hesitation of some of the best and brightest minds that were in the room.

  
“They are already destined for each other. Their souls are already bound. If we give the soldier a slip of freedom, a slip of domestication bliss, he would follow every order down to the wire to protect the one good thing he was allowed to have.” The doctor spoke so matter of factly, the room silent as they hung onto his every word.

  
“I think it's time for the soldat to meet his little pevun'ya.”

  
\---

  
“Not a bad take today!” The only other waitress left in the bar that was working this late with you, sidled up to you waving a small stack of cash.

  
The only waitress left in the bar with you, stood to the left of the till you were supposed to be closing down. She had her black hair piled onto her head in an effortless messy bun you could never pull off yourself. The dress she chose to wear accentuated her thin frame, wrapping delicately around her natural curves.

  
“I guess I didn't realize it was that busy?” You shift your weight from one foot to the other. You hadn’t realized how exhausted you were until it was the end of the night.

  
You brushed your fly away hairs behind your ears, fingers barely grazing the cool metal of your small hoop earrings. Your hair was not as effortlessly cute as your coworkers, yours was pulled into a high, tight ponytail held together by an elastic that was starting to lose its pull.

  
By the time it was nearly closing time, your whole body seemed to ache and quake. You were tried, you were kinda sweaty and you wanted to go home and go to bed.

  
You would skip the shower, you would skip changing clothes and just crash. After having a day of being on your feet almost constantly, serving drinks, serving food and getting groped occasionally, you were done.

  
“Here's your portion.” She split the pile nearly in half and handed it to you, the bills making up nearly $50.

  
“Just how much did he give you?” You shoved the bills into the small apron that was sitting on the the front of your waist, the red strings tied around your back.

  
“A well deserved tip and his number.” She grinned and winked at you, making her way back to the kitchen.

  
You shook your head and focused on the till in front of you, shutting it off for the night by cashing it out.   
As the drawer popped open, and you removed the tray, your eyed fell to the very visible and very bold mark on your left wrist.

  
‘James – 1917’ stained your skin, marking you as a lucky one who had a soulmate, though your soulmate, if he was still alive, would be 97 years old.

So how lucky could you really be?

  
Still, you wondered what he was like. What James, born in 1917, was like as a person. Some day’s you found yourself fantasizing about who James was.

  
You thought about the colour of his eyes, whether they would be strikingly bright or intensely dark. Would they be smoldering or gentle?

  
Was James tall, short? What colour was his hair? Was he a flirt? Did he have an ego? Was he a momma’s boy? What was his life like when he was younger?

  
When you were alone in your apartment, watching some re-runs of some cable TV, or lounging on the couch staring at the ceiling, you would imagine you were having a conversation with him.

  
You imagined whatever image you conjured up of him, sitting beside you on the couch, giving you life advice.

  
But for the most part, you ignored your mark entirely. You went about your day, you worked, you paid rent, you cooked yourself dinner.

  
For the most part, the name inked on your skin had no overall merit on your life, no control. You hadn’t met him, perhaps you never would, and you largely, in part, ignored it entirely.

  
“Good work today, Y/N.” You passed your boss the till tray, leaning against the door frame, watching him start the end of the night counts.

  
“It was busier than normal.” You tilt your head to the right and then the left, hearing satisfying cracks. “Not bad for tips though.”

  
“It’s a Friday. People are starting their weekend off with some of the best food and drinks this side of the block.” Your boss leaned back against her chair, her hands massaging her temples.

  
“You might as well go home. There's only an hour left, and your cleaning duties are done.” Your boss, an older woman with blonde hair that was starting to grey at the roots, placed her hand on yours, giving you a gentle squeeze.

  
“Are you sure?” you really didn't mind staying to help finish the cleaning and closing. It wasn't like you were going home to anyone. Or anything.

  
You knocked your worn flats against the metal doorframe as you tried to shift your weight to the other foot. You were beyond exhausted and the flats adorning your feet were hardly comfortable.

  
“Yes! Get out of here and have some fun!” She waved you away, even though going out to have fun was the farthest idea on your mind.

  
Your plans involved you, your bed and pillow, and your favourite black and red blanket. You would hit the mattress, head would hit the pillow and you would be out.

  
“Goodnight, I’ll see you tomorrow.” You waved your boss and left the office, moving further down the hall to the small back room.

  
You grabbed your coat and slipped it on, the edges of the sleeves worn and frayed, but the coat in overall decent shape.

  
You grabbed your bag next, slipping it on your shoulder, reaching for your car keys. When you felt the metal in your hand, you wrapped your hand around the ring that held your apartment key and your car key, yanking it out.

  
Before you slipped out of the bar, you called out one more time to your boss and co-worker bidding them a good night.

  
“Shit, it’s cold.” You hissed and yanked your coat closer to you, shuddering as the breeze ripped right through you, chilling you to the bone.

  
Your teeth chattered, your body shook as you approached your car sitting in the back parking lot, the few street lights thankfully illuminating your 4 door.

  
Upon reaching the door, you slipped your key inside the lock and turned, the sound of the door unlocking bringing you relief. All you wanted to do was get out of the cold and drive home.

  
“I’m so tired.” You muttered under your breath, slipping the key into the ignition.

  
As you started the engine, you spared a glance into the rearview mirror, heart stopping. Instead of seeing the parking lot in the rear view mirror, a set of bright blue eyes surrounded by, what looked like black paint.

  
A single scream left your lips before the thing in the backseat lurched forward, a hand holding a white piece of cloth over your mouth and nose.

  
“Nashel tebya malen'kiy golub.”

  
\---

  
Translastions:

Soldat: Soldier

  
pevun'ya: songbird

  
Nashel tebya malen'kiy golub': Found you little dove


	3. Chapter 3

Hoping for the best, prepared for the worst, and unsurprised by anything in between. – Maya Angelou  
\---

  
“Soldat.” The doctor stood before the asset, holding up a picture of the woman in question, the woman who would be the newest tool in controlling the soldier.

  
The woman would be here within a fortnight, taken by the very man who was destined to be with her.

The man who was formed and shaped to be everything Hydra wanted, needed. The soldier who would once again be perfect once they had found the woman, once they established a relationship between the soldat and the golub.

  
The soldier and the little dove. The soldier and the caged bird.

  
“This is your target. You are not to neutralize this target. You are going to take her, knock her out and bring her back to the base. Unharmed.” The doctor moved the picture, reaching for another, when he made sure it was the correct picture, by a quick look, he moved this one into the soldier’s view.

  
“Soldat, are you ready?” The asset moved, he angled his head as his blue eyes locked on the doctors.   
“Ready to comply.” The doctor clapped his hands with glee, his excitement at his newest idea being brought to life was hardly containable.

  
“This will be perfect!” he smiled like a maniac. This was the doctors chance to show his knowledge, his skills, to Hydra.

  
“Take the soldat, agent Rumlow. We have preparations to make for our newest guest.” The doctor slipped away from the asset, the file Hydra had on the woman, tucked under his arm.

  
As he moved, his stark white lab coat billowed around him, his weasel-like assistant following him out of the cryogenic holding chamber, and back toward his office.

  
“That is the plan sir? We send the Asset to kidnap his own soulmate? And then what?” The doctor ignored his assistant as he reached for a ring of keys sitting on the wooden desk, the fourth key was what he really focused on.

  
“Then, this…” the doctor walked back out of his office, moving away from the cryogenic chamber, away from his office, toward a completely different area of the base.

  
“What is this?” He shoved the key into a door, something that looked like a normal, solid metal door.

  
“This is the soldat's slip of domesticated freedom.” He opened the door and stepped inside.

  
“A house?” The doctor followed the assistant, standing inside with his hands shoved into the pockets of his lab coat.

  
“The entire house is monitored, and we will be watching every interaction. We will use this information and we will form a basis for future use. If this works between the soldat and the little golub, than we could use that knowledge for future use with future soldiers.” The doctor moved further into the ‘house’, his assistant still standing in the entrance.

  
“Sir, did Pierce approve this?” The doctor turned and raised an eyebrow.

  
“Pierce wants results. He doesn’t care how we gets them, he just wants them. This little slip of normalcy will be good for the soldier. This will work.”

  
\---

  
“Wake up.” The voice that spoke was deep, thick and hoarse. Heavy with an accent and entirely unfamiliar. “It's time to wake up malen'kiy golub'.”

  
Your furrowed your eyebrows, your eyes closed and still laden with sleep. The voice kept urging you to wake up, to sit up, to get out of bed.

  
Slowly, still being prodded by the voice, you placed your palms against the bed, the sheets smooth and soft, well made and entirely unlike your own scratchy, cheap microfiber set.

  
Your nails dug into the sheets as you felt a thick fog lifting from your body, the kind of fog you felt after you slept for far too long, far too deeply.

  
“Wake up.” You pushed yourself to rest on your arms, your fingers stretching to lay flat.

  
Your eyes moved around the room, scanning and scrutinizing every inch of the room you were in. The walls were plain, grey and drab. There was a single dresser against the far wall, dark oak, contrasting against the grey walls and white industrial laminate.

  
“You’re awake. Leave the room and walk down the hall.” The other side of the room had nothing adorning the walls, but there was a simple and small closet, empty, the wooden doors folded open.

  
“You’re awake. Leave the room and walk down the hall.” You shifted, sitting on your knees, your eyes widening as the realization that you were not in your apartment, not in your bedroom.

  
“You’re awake. Leave the-" you climbed off the bed and shuffled to the metal door separating your room from whatever else was out there.

  
“It's open.” You placed your hand on the smooth, black metal, the door hissing as it opened.

  
Beyond the door, you saw the same industrial laminate covering the floor, the same drab grey walls. Even beyond that, there was a hall with one door on the left, and one on the right.

  
“Leave the hall.” The voice echoed through wherever you were, through a speaker or some kind of sound system.

  
“Leave the hall.” You walked slowly, shuffling rather, your bare feet barely lifting from the cold laminate.

  
The hall ended and you were greet by an open concept somewhat old, living space. There was a small kitchen with ugly green cabinets set to the back of the drab grey walls.

  
There was a single above tucked exactly half way in between the cabinets, a vintage fridge that looked like it had been ripped out of the 50’s.

  
Everything in the house, or whatever you were in, looked like it was from the 50's. Everything had that old, vintage vibe.

  
“Hello?! Can anyone tell me what’s going on? Where I am?!” You called out to whatever was listening and watching, because someone was. That was obvious.

  
“Do you like it? It was designed specifically to help bring him ease. Comforts for him.” The voice was back, though it sounded less like a recorded, automated voice and more like a person. Still, the voice was deep, thick and hoarse with an accent.

  
“What are you talking about? What was designed for him? Who is him? What him?” You moved further into the ‘home'.

  
The kitchen, ugly green cupboards, old stove and fridge was hardly the most dated item in the ‘home'.

  
In the living area was a couch you swore your grandmother had in her living room, right down to the flower pattern splattered across the brown cloth.

  
In front of the couch was a low, wooden coffee table covered in doilies. Sitting on the doilies was an old record player, something layered with dust.

  
“It is quite perfect isn't it?” You spun slowly.

  
Your heart was going a mile a minute, same as your thoughts. You had no idea where you were, or what happened to you. All you remembered was leaving the bar and being cold, freezing cold.

  
“Hello!? This isn't funny anymore! I want answers!” Your attention moved to the metal door that closed off the whole space.

  
If the metal door opened when you placed your hand on it, the front one warranted a try. You had to at least attempt to get out of here.

  
“Oh little pevun'ya…” the moment you placed your hand upon the metal door, a shock surged through you, a shriek leaving your mouth.

  
“Welcome to your cage.” The same voice as before, laden with a thick accent, cooed in a condescending way. “You will save Hydra well, you will serve the soldier well, little dove.”


	4. Chapter 4

Like most children, I thought if I could face the worst danger voluntarily, and triumph, I would forever have power over it. - Maya Angelou

  
\---

  
“Little dove.” His voice was deep but quiet, a mumble, a whispering of something you couldn't quite make out.

  
He was sitting in a metal chair with leg restraints, hand restraints, and a strap to hold his head down. The chair was steel and just as cold as everything else in the room; everyone else.

  
“Soldat.” Your arm was gripped tightly as you were drug away from the entrance to the hellish torture sight you thought you were in, to a similar steel, cold chair.

  
“Sit.” You were pushed down, the chill that seeped into your bones, equally caused by the cold steel, and the feel of inevitable pain that was sure to come.

  
“Hand.” Your eyes were blown wide as you looked at every piece of machinery, every strange face scattered around the room. Everything was foreign, everything was devastatingly dangerous.

  
“Hand.” The voice to your left asked again, his smoky voice strained, impatient. He had as thick of an accent as the voice that echoed in the ‘apartment’, just as harsh.

  
“Hand!” your wrist was ripped away from your stomach where it was resting, stretching it out, your soulmates name on full display.

  
“Little dove…” a man in a white lab coat with greying, thinning hair studio before you, a wire framed pair of glasses on his face. “I think it’s time we introduce you to the soldat.”

  
The doctor grinned with yellow, cracked teeth, the mix of his grey, thinning hair and his wire glasses, making you feel nauseous and sick. You wanted to recoil from him, you wanted to make yourself as small as possible so this man wouldn't be in your personal space.

  
He stood back up and turned, taking one step before he stopped. You could hear his rampant mumbling under his breath, a few choice words thrown in, and then he turned back.

  
He stood up straight, giving you a view of his grey dress shirt stretched across his visible stomach, the button barely able to contain him.

  
“I need to introduce myself. I was so eager I nearly forgot!” He grinned again and cleared his throat.

  
“My name is doctor Müller. I am in charge of this little soulmate/imprinting experiment and you,” you recoiled and visibly flicked as he tapped your nose. “are one of the stars!”

  
The doctor spoke as if it should be an honour, as if you should be ecstatic at having such a glorious opportunity. The doctor was speaking with such giddiness, that it reminded you of a kid on christmas.

  
“You see,” he leaned in further as you recoiled as best as you could. “This experiment will help shape the future of Hydra.”

  
The doctor recoiled and stood up straight, clapping his hands together. He looked at you quickly, his beady eyes surrounded by wire framed glasses then moved to the man strapped in behind you.

  
“Imprinting. You do know what that is, don't you? Or are you just a simple minded american?” You felt tears prick your eyes.

  
You were kidnapped less than a day ago, shoved into some fake house and now you were going to be treated like you were some kind of guinea pig. Put through endless tortures, endless experiments.

  
“Shock her.” A shriek left your mouth as a bolt of electricity shot through you. You grit your teeth as the painful, yet probably not as powerful as it could’ve been, shock ran right through you.

  
“I want an answer when I ask you a question.” The doctor hissed, his hands gripping and clenching yours as he got in your personal space, again.

  
“Yes!” you screamed in his face, feeling sore already from being shocked. “I know what imprinting is!”

  
“A young animal come to recognize another, as a parent or other object of habitual trust.” The doctor leaned back, his shit eating grin giving you feelings of anxiousness and dread.

  
“Your soulmate was born in 1917, correct? He would have been…77 by the time you were born.” He kept his back to you as he walked toward the other person who was strapped down, a man who was focused solely on the woman in front of him.

  
“I know.” Another jolt ran through you, another scream left you.

  
“Such attitude, Miss L/N. Shall we continue without the sarcasm, hmm?” You watched him intertwine his short, stubby fingers behind his back, but you didn’t see him holding anything that could sent a shock through you.

  
“By 2014, your soulmate would be 97. Such an oddity for a woman to be gifted with a man who is almost 100, as a soulmate. That is rather unheard of. Of course, that only makes what you have so much more fascinating.” The doctor urged the woman to the side, giving you a full view of the man who was also strapped in, a better view.

  
“Is there a point to this?” You winced, preparing yourself for a shock, but it hadn't come.

  
“You really will be quite excellent for the soldat. So spirited, such fire.” He placed his short hand on the man's bare shoulder.

  
“This is your soulmate, Miss L/N. This is James Buchanan Barnes. He served in WW2 in the 107th infantry regiment. And he had quite the reputation.” As he spoke, you fell further into confusion.

  
“That’s not possible. That can't be possible.” The man, your soulmate, James, was not 97.

  
“He doesn’t look any older than-" the doctor cut you off with a gleeful giggle.

  
“-a day over 27!” He clapped his hands together. “He went missing when he was 27, thought to he dead by his best friend, Steven Roger’s.”

  
“H-how?” How were you supposed to process this? How were you supposed to deal with this news?

  
“Experimentation done by Hydra in the 1940’s, while new and risky, had allowed Sergeant Barnes to survive the fall from a great height. Once he was found by the Soviet's, and Hydra, he was created and shaped into the super solider that he is now.”

  
He had deep dark brown hair that fell into his blue eyes, the combination of the two making him incredibly attractive, and alluring. He was tall, likely 6’0”, maybe a tad shorter. He was also broad, his shoulders and biceps firm and bulky, the strength behind him was not something you wanted to feel first hand.

  
“With this super serum, and the cryogenic chamber, he could be young forever.” The doctor moved to stand behind you, his stubby hands gripping your shoulders.

  
“You get a front row seat to what makes him so…obedient. Well, what had made him so obedient. Something will be reconciled with you. But we’ll get to that soon.” The machine he was hooked up to had whirred to life just as his head was forced back and a guard was shoved in his mouth.

  
“It’s a memory suppressing machine. They’ll wipe him clean.” You clamped your eyes shut, dug your nails into your palms when you heard his screams.

  
Your heart was racing and you felt like your whole body was shuddering and shaking with each painful scream. Hearing him, hearing James, scream in pain, knowing he was your soulmate, made bile rise in your throat.

  
“Stop it! Stop! You’re hurting him!” You had dreamt of who you thought he would be your entire life. You had wanted him and twisted for him, creating an image in your mind of what your soulmate would look like act like. And they were hurting him.

  
“Leave him alone!” Your voice was starting to ache from the volume of your protests, the tenacity behind them.

  
“This is going to go so well!” The doctor pat your cheek condescendingly before he stepped around you and approached James.

  
“Say it.” The doctor spoke to someone dressed in black, with a mean scowl on his face, holding a red book.

  
“Longing. Rusted. Furnace. Daybreak. Seventeen. Benign. Nine. Homecoming. One. Freight car.” When the man closed the book and stepped back, the doctor stepped in front of James, his hands still behind his back.

  
“Soldat, ty znayesh', kto eto?” There was a moment where he said nothing, his face showed nothing, and then he spoke low, quiet and huskily.

  
“Moy malen'kiy golub'.” You were hit with a feeling of warmth spreading from the soulmate mark on your left arm, quickly heating the rest of you. “Moy malen'kiy golub'.”

  
\---

  
Translations:

  
Soldat, ty znayesh', kto eto?: Soldier, do you know who that is?

  
Moy malen'kiy golub': My little dove


	5. Chapter 5

He was alone with his thoughts. They were extremely unpleasant thoughts and he would rather have had a chaperon. - Douglas Adams

  
\---

  
“What did he say?” The blood that was being pumped throughout your body was echoing in your ears.

  
You couldn’t believe the hell hole you were stuck in, but you could believe even less, that the man restrained in the chair was your soulmate. He was frozen at age 27, born in 1917. He was approaching 100 years old, it was impossible for him to be here, to look like he had.

  
And yet, he was here. He had your name inked on his skin, just as his was on yours.

  
“There are rules little songbird.” The doctor heaved as he sat in front of you, a clipboard in his lap. “Rules you will follow or else.”

  
He was tapped your neck, a cool slip of a silver choker wrapped around your neck. The third time he tapped the silver choker, you got a low shock, a warning.

  
“Rule 1,” he doctor cleared his throat. “you will follow every Order to a ‘T'.” He looked at you over his clipboard, waiting for you to nod.

  
“Answer me or you will get another shock.” He was sneering at you, his lip curled showing a slip of his yellow and crooked teeth.

  
“Yes.” You spat, your hands clenching and unclenching as you stretched your fingers, wrists still bound.

  
“Rule 2, you will not attempt to leave your…home. If you do you'll get shocked.” The doctor wrote a few notes down before he focused back on you.

  
“Rule 3, though this is more of a gentle reminder…” He cleared his throat. “if the soldat fucks up, if he fails anything, you get punished. This is a way or controlling him.”

  
“He doesn’t know me. He wouldn’t and shouldn’t give two fucks about me.” You wanted to go home. You wanted to be free of this hell hole, this endless torment.

  
“Oh you are very wrong about that little dove. You are his soulmate, you are his. You will mean more to him than anything else. And as your soulmate, he will do anything to keep you safe.” The same gleeful, eager look crossed the doctors full face.

  
“See, the soldier has been showing less restraint when it comes to disobeying orders. But if he were given a slip of freedom, a domesticated bliss, he would do anything to keep it. Keep you. And in order to keep you, he had to follow every Order.” You couldn't look at the doctor anymore.

  
Instead, you focused on him. You focused on his longer brown tresses, the way his blue eyes were constantly on the move. You focused on his strong jaw clenching and unclenching. You focused on the rise and fall of his chest as he took deep breaths.

  
“James.” Nothing. He didn't move, he didn't twitch.

  
“Please look at me. Soldier.” You spoke again. He raised his head, he looked at you, blue eyes focused on you now. The intensity in his eyes, the raw emotions they couldn't rip from him, caused your stomach to clench.

  
“The connection is there, little dove.” You flinched as the doctor reached out and stroked your cheek with his dirty, nasty hand. “Soulmates always find each other, always need each other.”

  
He was handsome, he was beyond handsome. But he was broken, he was scarred and broken and he needed help. He was being tortured.

  
“The best part of this little songbird, is that you can never run. You run, and he finds you. You try and escape and he drags you back by your hair. You will be dependent on him and he will be dependent on you.” The doctor tapped your cheek with enough force to make you hiss.

  
“Take her back to the house. The asset has a mission and the dove needs to go home, wait for the assets return.”

  
\---

  
You were returned to your cage disguised as your ‘home’. You were returned with the promise that the asset, your soulmate, James, would be back after his mission and if he didn't succeed, you would be punished.

  
You were promised torture by shocks surging through your body from the metal choker secured around your neck. You were promised torture by starvation and depravation of your senses. The light would be taken away, or you would be forced to wear a blindfold, you would be given drugs to temporarily take away your hearing.

  
The doctor who spoke, the round and disgusting doctor who got far too much pleasure from the promise of pain, had been all but giddy and almost fanatic, about your appearance in their lives.

  
He would ensure you felt no small measure of pain to get both you and the soldier to react, to obey. You would obey one or another, and you would have no choice in the matter. You would do what they wanted, when they wanted.

  
“This is where you will stay unless you are needed for any appointments.” Appointments. They said that like it was completely normal.

  
“The soldier will be here when he is not on a mission or getting his brains scrambled.” You glared at the woman in the white coat who was speaking with the same giddiness the doctor was.

  
“You will spend time with him. You will behave.” You waited until the woman was done listing off the rules, which you haphazardly listened to, your attention focused more on learning the layout of the place, and somehow finding a way out.

  
You had to escape. You had to leave. You weren't going to let yourself be controlled by some madman in a white coat who felt a thrill every time you screeched from being shocked.

  
You had to leave.

  
“James.” You were sidetracked by the name on your skin followed by the date he was born. There was no denying that you were soulmates, bound together, bound as one, now that you’d found each other.

“James.”

  
Your head snapped up and you dove for the small couch in the living area as the lock turned, the solid metal door sliding open. You peered over the top of the ugly patterned couch, watching as the ‘asset’ strode in, his hands clenched, a look of pure ferocious anger on his face.

  
“Mission got cancelled. He's irritated. Doctor said to bring him here instead of wiping him. Good luck!” The door was shut and locked, leaving you alone with him and his radiating anger.

  
“James…” when you got no response, you tried again.

  
“James…” You spoke with more force, the man's blue eyes slowly moving to lock on you. “my name is on your wrist. I’m Y/N. I’m your soulmate.”

  
Silence. He hadn't said anything, he hadn't moved.

  
“I’m not going to hurt you.” You slowly got off the couch, holding your hands up. You were terrified, beyond terrified, but you had to have faith, falsely placed faith, that they wouldn't let him kill you.

  
“Please…” you shrieked as he moved toward you, hands clenched and a deadly purpose to his movements.

  
“Please!” You fell back on the couch, your legs bent over the arm, your back on the cushions. “Please don't kill me!”

  
You clamped your eyes shut, waiting for him, waiting for pain. You wait for him to strike you, drag you by your feet or hair.

  
“Malen'kiy golub.” He gripped your wrist and yanked you up, your chests touching.

  
You squeaked wen he leaned in, eyes still wide. You didn’t know what he was going to do to you, you had no idea what he could do, but judging by the pure strength he possessed, or seemed to, you wouldn’t stand a chance.

  
“I-I don't know what that means.” He tightened his grip on your wrist as he turned it, blue eyes narrowing in on his name as the black ink sat etched into your flesh. “Please…please don't hurt me…”

  
“Y/N.” He spoke your name clearly, slowly. “Y/N. Little dove.”

  
You followed his movements, followed his flesh hand as he traced his name on your wrist, almost as if he was fascinated by the lettering, the date, the ink.

  
“James.” He raised his head, his blue eyes boring into your eyes. “My name is James and yours is Y/N.”

  
His voice was deep, slightly husky. It was oddly soothing, despite being terrified of the man who still had your wrist in his metal arm.

  
“You were born in 1994.” He was stating the fact that was on his skin.

  
“20.” You licked your bottom lip. “I’m 20.” James, the soldier, the asset, threw your wrist away from him, his metal hand causing bruises.

  
“James…” you reached our for him, your hand shaking.

  
He slapped your hand away, and with as much anger and power as before, turned and stalked toward the only other bedroom in the ‘house’. You could hear his clunky boots as he walked, followed by the sound of a door slamming.

  
“Holy shit…” you held your wrist tightly in your other hand, clutching it to your chest. “Holy shit…”


	6. Chapter 6

“Don't be afraid of being scared. To be afraid is a sign of common sense. Only complete idiots are not afraid of anything.” - Carlos Ruiz Zafón

  
\---

  
The first night spent in the cage they kept you in, was a restless, sleepless night. It was spent with you laying in bed, eyes wide open and your heart pounding all night.

  
Every sound, every movement, or every dead silence was spent with you wondering if someone would come storming into your room disguised as a cell to steal your breath.

  
Every moment was spent on wondering what James was doing in his own room, if he was able to sleep or if he too, was haunted by a restless sleep.

  
All night sleep had evaded you. All night you had tossed and you had turned. Your mind ran, was filled with thoughts about who was Hydra and what they wanted with you.

  
You knew they were going to use you, use your connection to control James. They would make you, or make him, imprint and then use your connection as a bartering chip through torture or the threat of it.   
You knew that, but you still had so many questions. How did they know it would work? Or did they hope they could wear you down?

  
Was that going to be your sole purpose? Was that going to be your life? Helping control the soldier? Helping control James?

  
“Am I going to die in here?” you mumbled in a daze of no sleep, exhaustion weighing on you. “I don't want to die.”

  
You ran your hand through your hair, working the knots out of your strands. You had no idea what time it was, and you weren't given the luxury of a clock.

You weren’t given any luxuries.

  
You got a bed, you got a dessert, a closet and a door. You had no means of entertainment. There was a record player in the living area, there was nothing else.

  
There were couches, there were loveseats, there was a record player. There were no real modern commodities, nothing that looked liked it was invented past the 1950’s.

  
“I don't want to die.” You shuddered and held your head in your hands. You were afraid of dying in a prison cell disguised as a house.

  
You were afraid of dying before you got to experience your life. You were afraid of dying while James was being manipulated, his had forced to kill.

  
“Stop, Y/N.” You spoke to yourself. “You can still make it out.” You mumbled the last bit and got out of bed.

  
You exhaled slowly, building up your nerve to leave the room you were given. You didn’t know what to expect when you left the room, you didn’t know if he would be there, if he would be waiting for you.

  
“Just leave.” You placed a hand on your stomach, spreading your fingers, almost swearing you could feel your stomach churning through your skin, through your plain grey shirt they gave you.

  
“Just go.” You took one step at a time as you approached the solid metal door.

  
You pressed your palm against the door. The metal was beyond cool under your touch, it was ice cold, it was sending a chill right down your arm and spine, almost like it was chilling you right down to the bone.

It felt less like metal and more like liquid nitrogen, with the burning cold.

  
“Y/N L/N-" a robotic voice was heard from the speaker in your room. “access granted.” You stepped back and the door slid open, and you am slid through the crack.

  
“Do I have to do that every time?” You rolled your shoulders, easing the tension from your body as best as possible, even though your exhaustion was preventing you from relaxing as well as you'd have liked.

  
“James?” you whispered his name as you scanned the open concept living area/dining room/kitchen.   
You couldn’t hear him. You couldn’t see him.

  
He wasn't in the retro kitchen with the ugly and draped grey walls, the horrid green cabinets and impossibly old fridge and stove.

  
He wasn't in the living area with the brown flowered couch, the matching love seat and the coffee table with the record player sitting on top.

  
You were alone. Or you thought you were alone. You didn’t know if he was in the bathroom or in his room, and you weren't going to go and knock. You were going to avoid him as best as possible.

  
Being locked anywhere with him, frightened you. He had frightened you. Last night when he had trapped you against him, when he had held your wrist in his hand so tightly, staring at his name on your wrist, it made you feel unnerved.

  
You didn't know the extent of his strength, his temper. You had no idea about him, truly, and that was almost more petrifying. Knowing that you didn't know much about him, knowing that there were so many unknowns, it made it hard to try and plan an escape.

  
It was hard to plan an attempt to escape. What if he drug you back? That’s what they said would happen. They said he'd drag you back.

  
But even if he didn't, would he tell them what you were planning if he had caught you? Or would he try and come with you?

  
You frowned and shuffled into the kitchen, opening and closing the cupboards. There was noting in them except a few dishes, a few pieces of silverware.

  
“Hello?! I know you can hear me!” You stepped back out of the kitchen, head raised as you scanned and searched for the cameras. You know they would be watching you, but you didn't know where they played the cameras to watch you, or even how small they were.

  
“What am I supposed to do for food? Huh? Or are you just going to let me starve?” You placed your hands on your hips, turning ever so slowly. “Hello? Anyone?!”

  
You waited for an answer. You waited for the slight crackling that was heard before they spoke, before they said anything. You waited, you waited, you waited.

  
“There will be a delivery later, pevun'ya.” (Songbird)   
You huffed, your irritation with the whole situation, including your dog collar, had yet to fade. You still had your fire, your determination. And you were not going to let them rip that from your clutches without fighting to the death.

  
You were not going to lay on your back like an obedient dog and let them do whatever they so wished. You were determined to fight.

  
“And where is my cell mate this morning? Has he died? Is he gone?” Your looked back over your shoulder, making sure he wasn't standing behind you with his murder gaze and strut.

  
“Pevun'ya,” the voice echoed through the room. “the soldat has a mission. He will back later.”

  
You chewed the inside of your cheek, remembering one of the rules they had given you. Though this was more of a warning than a rule.

  
“If he fails, you get punished.” Your anxiety at not only getting punished for his failings, but the promise of pain in the future, had made your stomach lurch.

  
“Forget the food. I’m not hungry anymore.”

  
\---

  
His mission was simple. Eliminate the target, leave no trace. Simple, easy, done. It had taken very little effort, very little time.

  
He was in and out, he was silent, and he was gone. They called him a ghost, the ghost. They called him a phantom who left no trace, no evidence.

  
He was a soldier who was trained to do one thing and one thing only. He was a soldier who was being manipulated, had been manipulated, and formed into their perfect weapon.

  
He had followed orders when he was given them, he completed his mission. But there was something in him, a little spark, a little flicker of light in him that had stirred resistance. It had urged him to be more hesitant when he was given orders.

  
He knew it had to do with the mark on his wrist, the name and the date. He knew it was what had urged him to resist, urged him to question what they wanted because somewhere out there was his soulmate.

  
And then they found you. They found you and they brought you to him. They gave him to him and they told him that you were his.

  
“Moy malen'kiy golub'. Moya malen'kaya pevchaya ptitsa.” He muttered under his breath. (My little dove. My little songbird)

  
He remembered you. It had only been a day and aa fortnight, but he remembered you. Each time his memory was wiped, he always remembered you.

  
You were his soulmate, you were his. That’s why they had you brought here. To control him.

  
Because they knew. They knew he wouldn't be able to forget the person who's soul was woven in with his. They knew he would become attached to the one good thing he was allowed to have.

  
They knew that once they were together, you and he would become close, quick. You two would become dependent on each other.

  
And how could you not? He would be your only comfort, your only friend in the hell that you had been introduced to.

  
And you, in turn, would be his hope. His flicker of light, the subtle warmth that couldn't he stripped away from him.

  
He would cling to you as much as you would cling to him. They knew that. They planned on that.

  
Dr. Müeller had planned on it. He had known that once you spent enough time together, the process of imprinting would take place, and you would become his crutch, his slip of freedom.

  
But Dr. Müeller was hardly a patient man. He was going to pull strings behind the curtain like a puppet master. He was going to force the connection to form sooner rather than later.

  
He wanted to be sure, after every wipe, that he remembered you. The doctor wanted to be sure the soldier hadn't forgotten you.

  
Before he was transported back to you, after his memory was wiped, after they spoke the trigger words, the doctor would crouch in front of his face and ask the same question with his crooked, yellow teeth.

  
“Soldat,” he thought of you. “who is the songbird?”   
“Moy malen'kiy golub'. Moya malen'kaya pevchaya ptitsa.” His dove. His songbird. His soulmate.

  
“Incredible!” the doctor clapped his hands, impressed with the results of the experiment, even in its infancy. “With every wipe he still remembers the woman.”

  
“This is going excellent. Really, we are right on track.” The doctor stepped away from him, focusing his attention on a chatty attached to a clipboard.

  
“I want the soldier taken back to the room. I have permission from Pierce himself to postpone the soldier's next mission.” The doctor looked back over him, beady little eyes crinkled at the corner as the doctor grinned like a madman.

  
“Sir?” His assistant questioned, but Müeller was focused on the soldier.

  
“We need to allow the soldier and the dove to bond. Strengthen what is already there. And then we move on to testing their bond.” He was hauled to his feet and away from the room he was in.

  
“Malen'kiy golub.” He was coming for you. He was returning to you. 


	7. Chapter 7

“The power of getting to know one another is so immense, eclipsed only by first getting to know ourselves.” -Bryant McGill

—

“I want a mission report.” Alexander Pierce addressed Doctor Müeller with a look of derision. The man who commanded Hydra while hiding in SHIELD was hardly impressed by the doctors ‘experiment’, but if it yielded results, than he would he proven wrong.

“You promised me results, doctor.” Doctor Müeller was standing in front of Pierce, Agent Rumlow and the rest of the STRIKE team with a sweaty brow and shaking hands.

“The woman, songbird or little dove as the soldat calls her, has been in our care for 2 weeks.” He cleared his throat.

“In those 2 weeks, the little dove had been avoiding the soldat as best as possible and he the same.” The doctor was staring to grow nervous as the eyes that were boring down on him had started narrowing.

“That doesn’t sound like good news to me, doctor.” Pierce watching the doctor, just as the doctor was watching him.

“There was an interaction between the soldat and the little dove that had changed the atmosphere and feel of their relationship.” The doctor cleared his throat as his assistant displayed a clip on the screen behind the doctor.

“This footage shows the soldier returning with wounds that were superficial and only needed cleaning.The little dove was otherwise oblivious until the soldier had collapsed due to a drug we had injected earlier.” The doctor licked his lips, the taste of sweat bedding down his face had made him wince.

“You forced the hand?” Pierce sounded yet again, unimpressed.

“Yes but the results don’t lie. The soldier and the songbird are getting closer. There is no denying the connection between them!” The doctor felt like he was begging for his life, rather than begging for his experiment to continue.

“Test them. I want their connection tested today.”

—

The memory, the scent, the feel of his blood on your hands was too real. You couldn’t get the image of James stumbling into the prison cell battered and bruised, cuts all over himself.

You couldn’t get the image of his weary body as he staggered forward, his black tactical armour soaked with blood.

“Oh my God!” you were frozen in place, watching almost helplessly as he stumbled forward, body swaying.

“Dove…” he reached for support, black hand gripping the ugly brown couch, squeezing with all his might.

“Are you okay?” You still couldn’t move toward James, still scared of his strength, scared of the metal arm that seemed to know no limits to its strength and power.

“Y/N…” It wasn’t until he fell forward, collapsed beside the ugly, brown flower patterned couch. He landed head first, either passed out on his own whim or fainted from blood loss.

“James!” you scurried toward him, falling to your knees as you rolled him over, ear pressed to his chest as you listened for a heart beat.

“Hello?!” You looked around the room, staring at any of the positions you thought the cameras would be in.

“I need your help!” You screamed at them, your hands becoming coated with his red blood, still warm.

“Please! Please you need to help him!” when you received no answer, you started ripping and pulling at the buckles and velcro that had kept his tactical armour on.

“I swear to God James, if you die and leave me in this hell hole alone…” You grit your teeth, wincing at both the feeling and the sound, as you ripped his armour away from him.

“If you die you bastard…” Your vision was blurry, your breathing erratic. “please James…”

You took in every inch of his bloody, and very toned chest. If it weren’t for all the blood, all the cuts and bruises and marring, you would’ve taken the time to examine every inch of his toned frame.

“You need help!” You were crying now, your only friend, your soulmate was possibly dying in front of you, and you were desperate. “I’m begging you! Help him! Please help him!”

You ripped off the sweater you were given and started wiping the blood sway, putting pressure on the wounds you thought were deeper, trying to keep calm despite your worried sobbing.

“Please-“ you whipped your head to the clunky metal door separating you and the cage from the rest of the world, or the rest of the building you were in.

“Stand back.” The door was swung open and a team of doctors came in, shoving you aside and they lifted the soldier onto a cot, his limp body bringing about another set of tears.

You hated them for what they had done to him. You hated them all. But they wasn’t what you wanted to focus on.

James. And letting James know about your life. That was your focus.

“I was born in 1994. During one of the worst snowstorms the city had ever seen at that point.” You cleared your throat, your arms wrapped around your knees, which were pulled up to your chest. “my father was almost trapped in the snow. He almost missed my birth.”

The memory of James bleeding, the memory of your salty tears, your cries, had stirred something deep inside you, telling you to open up to him.

“I was working at a cocktail bar when you found me. I was attending school for something I don’t even like.” You could feel his blue eyes watching you. He was hanging onto every word you spoke.

“Well took me. I don’t blame you.” Without moving from your curled up position, you turned your head.

James was standing in the kitchen, hands gripping the cheap countertops with enough force to break them clean in two. He was staring you down with his intense blue orbs, the ones that pulled you in and made you feel terrified all at once.

“I don’t blame you for any of this, James. I want you to remember that.” You licked your lip and dried tears you didn’t know you shed. “I don’t blame you for doing what you did. It was out of your control.”

Your turned your head away, shedding more tears. What were your parents doing, you wondered? What were your friends doing?

What did the news outposts say about you? About your disappearance? Did they say anything at all? Were you simply erased form history.

“You were born in 1917. You would’ve been 77 by the time I was born and 97 today. You should be an old man, frail and weak.” You sniffled. “Yet you are stuck at the age of 27, and you looked not a day older.”

You heard his footsteps, but only because he wanted you to. He let you hear him because it brought you comfort. “You are 20.”

You felt the couch dip, your head still turned away. You could feel the weight of his gaze, the surprising warmth radiating from him.

“What they did to you-” You couldn’t continue speaking without your voice shaking, wavering. You had to take a moment, had to let yourself breathe, let the sting of the tears streaming down your cheeks fade before you continued.

“I can’t imagine the pain you had went through.” You felt metal under your chin, and then you were no longer looking at the wall, but at James.

“Ne plach’ po mne, malen'kiy golub’.” He reached out with his real hand and wiped away your tears. (Don’t cry over me, little dove.)

“James, I can't…I am sorry.” It was your turn to comfort him. It was your turn to reach out and touch him.

You placed your hands on his cheeks, thumbs brushing against the stubble, brushing against his cheekbones. This had been the first time since the blood incident, that you had touched him. It was also the first time when you really, and truly, let your guard down.

“Y/N.” He leaned into your touch, the man behind the madness, the man behind the soldier was appearing with just a slip, but it was enough.

Even if it wasn’t enough, even if you only every dealt with the ‘soldier’ and not James in his entirety, he would still be yours.

“I’m sorry for what they’ve done to you. I truly am.” The metal collar around your neck vibrated. You flew back to the other side of the couch, hands grabbing at the ring, trying to yank it off.

“Stop it!” You screeched as a shock went through you, your vision blurring and hot, angry tears streaming down your cheeks. “Stop it!”

A hand, his hand has rest against your stomach, holding you down. You saw his metal hand grab the ring, the finger he shoved in between the ring and your neck had nearly made you choke, but the moment after it brought relief.

He had ripped it off in one pull, but that wasn’t enough. He crushed it beneath his hand, discarding the dust on the table.

“Are you-“ the pair of you were cut off by the door flying open and a series of agents storming in with guns raised.

“Get the girl!” James reacted without hesitation. He grabbed your arm and flipped you around, planting you firmly behind him as he reached for a gun that was stashed underneath the couch cushions.

“Soldat let us take the girl.” Agent Rumlow, a man you had only met once, but remembered his scathing voice, had spoken first.

“Day nam devushku!” They began screaming in Russian, taking careful steps forward. (Let the girl go)

“Ona moya. YA ne pozvolyu yey uyti.” He planted himself firmly in front of you, blocking you entirely from their view.

And from your position, they would have to go through James to get to you. Something, you doubt, he would let happen.

“Soldat…” Agent Rumlow warned as he took another step forward.

“Ona moya!” He grunt and kicked the coffee table, somehow managing to kick it up and grab it, slamming it in front of the pair of you. (She’s mine!)

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” A high pitched screeching echoed through the area, the sound making you fall to your knees, clamping you hands over your ears.

You kept your eyes shut until you felt someone’s hands on you, yanking you up. When you felt their nails digging into your skin, your eyes snapped open. You struggled and fought with all your might, eyes finally landing on the spot where James once was.

“James?” You looked around the room, eyes wide and heart beating like a drum. “James? James!?”

—


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a trigger warning chapter. Please do not read it if you are sensitive to depictions of pain, non-consensual touching (nothing grapphic). If you are, please skip this. Please, please, please. You have been warned

—

“Pain is temporary. It may last a minute, or an hour, or a day, or a year, but eventually it will subside and something else will take its place. If I quit, however, it lasts forever.” - Lance Armstrong

—

“James? Where is James? Where is he?” Your arms were strapped to the sides of the metal chair, something akin to the chair you were strapped to when you were forced to witness James being tortured.

Only now it was you who was strapped in. Your arms and your legs were strapped down with metal wrapped in leather. You were held against the chair with no padding beneath you, a plain grey shirt and worn sweats.

“You removed the collar.” The doctor wasn’t in here. It was agents, it was people you had never seen before.

“Where is James?” You turned your head as best as you could. You tried to find a familiar face, even though they were hardly friendly faces.

“You disobeyed a rule.” The man addressing you, speaking to you, was an agent.

His black tactical gear was wrapped around him in much of the same way as James’ was. It was secured with buckles and velcro, looking impenetrable. He had a scar that was running down the right side of his face, tugged by the scowl on his face.

“I didn’t do anything. Where’s Ja-“ your speech turned into a scream as a shock ran up through your feet.

Your hands gripped the metal, white knuckled. You could feel every inch of your body burning from the heat of the shock, your hair standing on end.

“You disobeyed a rule.” You grit your teeth as another shock ripped through you.

It ripped up through your feet, more intense, far more painful. You felt as if your skin was getting ripped off, felt like you were being burned from the inside out. Your back arched with another shock, another pain filled scream leaving your mouth.

“I didn’t do anything!” your cries came after the screaming. You were being shocked a punishment for something you hadn’t even done. But you weren’t going to let them know that it was James who did it. He suffered enough.

“Where is James?” The agent who was dealing with you, the one with the scowl and the scar, stood in front of you, his gloved hands balled into tight fists.

He leaned in, his eyes raking up and down your body, eyes darkening to the point that you couldn’t see his irises. His pupils were blown wide, the scowl on his face was replaced with a smirk, a predatory smirk.

“You are his aren’t you?” He reached out and brushed hair off your shoulder, his hand getting dangerously close to your neck.

“Don’t touch me!” you snapped at the agent, turning your head in an attempt to bite him, to force his hand away from you.

When he pulled his hand away he took a step back. He shook his hand, attention still focused on you. He lifted his hand to his mouth and ripped his leather glove off with his teeth, eyes burning.

“Doctor’s away, songbird. It’s my turn to play with the new toy.” He turned back toward you, gloves gone.

“What are you going to do to me?” You couldn’t hold a brave face. Not while there were 15 agents who could rip you to pieces, and an agent in front of you who was looking at you like you were a chew toy.

“I want to play.” He stepped closer to you, his intent was nothing pleasant, you knew that.

“I don’t.” You tugged on the restraints keeping your legs down, your arms down. You needed to get out. You had to get out.

“What’s he call you?” His fingers stroked your cheek only for a moment until you turned your head.

You kept your head turned, you clamped your eyes shut. You did everything you could to tell yourself that you weren’t here, that you were somewhere else. That you were with James.

James. You friend. The only person you had right now. He was your soulmate, he was bound to you and you were bound to him. He was your comfort, you were his.

“Oh I know.” He cupped your cheek even with your head turned. He stroked your cheekbone as hot tears streamed down your cheeks.

“Malen'kiy golub’. Little dove. That’s quite tender isn’t it?” He had a steady hand, a touch disguised as gentle but it was actually controlling.

“Do you like the soldat, little dove? He’s your soulmate. I would assume you like him. He’s a bad man though, isn’t he?” He hand moved away from your cheek, gripping your chin instead.

“I know what you want. I know what you really want.” He pressed his nose against your cheek, inhaling your scent as he whispered huskily in your ear.

“You want to be the Soldier’s little whore? You’re not so different from any other woman. The doctor thinks you are the key to controlling the soldier. I suppose be right. You spread your legs enough times for any man and he can be persuaded.” He held you tighter, slammed your head against the metal when you tried ripping yourself out of his grip.

“Before I send you back to the soldier, perhaps I should have a taste of you, see if his piece of ass is worth all the work.” He let go of your chin after you hissed, stepping back for the second time.

“You bastard.” You mumbled with a cracking voice, lip quivering and more fear than you had felt since you came here. The shocks, the cage you were kept in, the fear of being punished was nothing compared to the fear of being raped, or being sexually assaulted and harassed in a room full of agents.

“Don’t..” He hand grabbed your shirt, the bottom of your plain cotton shirt, and ripped.

You shrieked as the fabric fell apart, leaving you exposed. You closed your eyes again, clamped them shut tight, waiting for something anything.

“Are you frightened, songbird?” You bit down on your lip, hard enough to draw blood.

As you taste copper on your tongue, and felt fresh hot tears streaking down your cheeks, all you thought of was James.

You would see James soon. James. James. James.

“This is your punishment, little songbird. He failed, you get punished. That was the rule. Now look at me.” When you refused, he grabbed your chin in his hand, squeezing your flesh until you cried out in pain.

“Look at me!” You slowly opened your eyes, peering at him through blurry vision. “We are going to have so much fun together.”


	9. Chapter 9

“Too often we underestimate the power of a touch, a smile, a kind word, a listening ear, an honest compliment, or the smallest act of caring, all of which have the potential to turn a life around.” - Leo Buscaglia

—

How much time had gone by while you were in that room? Did you even blink? Did you think about anything but the comfort the little cage they put you in, offered you?

While that agent was mocking you, while he was running his hand up and down your stomach and chest, what were you thinking of? Where was your happy place?

James. You thought of James.

You thought of your soulmate who was also stuck in hell. You thought of his blue eyes that shone brighter when it was just you and him. You thought of the time you had seen him smile, in your presence.

You thought of his hands, both flesh and metal, as they wiped your tears. You thought of the comfort he provided you when he told you not to worry about him, when he called you ‘little dove’.

But then, the agent called you little dove. The agent called you the same name and it made you sick thinking of him twisting the sentiment James had for you.

Or maybe you were sick of being stuck. Maybe you were sick of being watched and prodded and punished. Maybe you were sick of being treated like an animal, watching James get tortured. You were sick of listening to him scream in pain as the scum who ran this place stood by and watched.

“When can I see you again, little dove?” You were sick of it all. And you wanted out.

“Don’t be mad, little dove. You did so well.” You flinched when he stroked your cheek, flinched when he whispered hotly in your ear.

“Maybe I’ll visit you at night.” He cackled and shoved you into your cell, his laughter echoing in your mind as you fell against the horrid industrial laminate.

You heard the thud of the door, heard the click of the lock and then you jumped to your feet. You ran for the bathroom and turned on the shower, having no cares about the temperature.

You stripped yourself of clothes and jumped into the cold water. You didn’t care that you were freezing, you didn’t care that you would get sick. You just needed the feeling of his hands grabbing you, touching you, caressing you, off of your skin.

As the water was dripping from the shower head, you scrubbed your arms with the bar of soap. Up and down, digging into your flesh.

“Why is this happening to me?” You were sobbing as you scrubbed yourself, tears streaming down your face along with the cold water, blubbering sobs mixing with the sound of the water hitting the worn tile.

“Oh God!” You screamed in the bathroom, your stomach churning, bile rising in your throat. “I can’t take it anymore!” you threw the bar of soap away from you as you collapsed in the corner of the shower, your knees pulled up to your chest and your head resting against the frigid tile.

“I can’t do this.” You mumbled as you lay there, icy water pelting your skin like little rubber bullets. “I can’t do this.”

—

James slammed his fist against the faucet, the water shutting off immediately, but that wasn’t his focus. He reached into the shower and hauled you into his arms, tucking you against his chest, the water from your skin and hair dribbling down this kevlar vest, his tactical gear.

He moved from the bathroom to his bedroom, placing his boot covered foot against the steel. He lifted his foot and slammed it back down the metal denting under the weight of his kick.

“Otkroy, kusok der'ma!” He kicked the door again and again, until the metal was dented enough, giving him the ability to shove it open. (Open, you piece of shit!)

He strode toward his bed and set you down, your body shivering and shaking as the cold seeped into your bones. James cursed under his breath, his hands ripping at the armour covering his chest, the black Kevlar, the tactical gear.

He tossed it to the side, he kicked it away from him. He focused on you and your chattering teeth, your shaking body.

He glanced over the bruises, his teeth gritting to the point of nearly breaking. They had touched you, he had failed and they had punished you. But not in the traditional sense of torture.

No, they put their hands on you. They touched your skin, they grabbed and pawed at you. They left bruises on your skin, and you had tried to scrub your skin raw.

You fell into such a stupor that you had unknowingly sent yourself into a panic attack and then passed out in the frigid water.

James rid himself of every item of clothing before he climbed into the bed with you, yanking you to his body. He wrapped himself around you, arms around your waist and his legs entwined with yours.

You were on your way to have hypothermia, and naked skin to skin contact was always suggested for warming someone up. James was going to take care of you, and then he was going to slaughter every last man who put their hands on you.

He was going to make them pay for doing this to you. He was going to rip them to pieces, limb from limb, and no one was going to stop him.

No one could stop him.

—

“What did they do to you?” You blinked, slowly waking up to the feeling of a hand on your waist and hot breath on your neck. “little dove…”

You winced and tucked into yourself, your throat getting tight. Hearing James say ‘little dove’ should’ve made you feel special, warm, but it made your skin feel like ice, made your heart stop.

“Please…” You sniffled, biting down on your bottom lip. “don’t say that. Please.”

You felt his arm yanking you further toward him, falling onto your back, his eyes boring into your own. He was hovering above you, bare naked, supporting himself on his metal arm.

“What did they do to you, zvezda moya?” He stroked your cheek, his touch tender and soft. (My star)

“I was being punished.” You licked your dry lips. “It’s not your fault, James.”

He cupped your cheek, thumb brushing away the tears that were rolling down your cheeks. His blue eyes were lighter now, the slight tinge of green in them making James look younger, less tortured.

“I don’t want to talk about it.” He leaned in, while you spoke, shielding you even with his lack of clothing. “don’t make me talk about it.”

“I won’t let them get away with this, kotyonok.” He pressed his lips against your tearstained cheeks, the very first time he had ever put his lips on your skin. (Kitten)

“I will protect you, kotyonok.” He came to lie next to you again, his arm wrapping around your waist as he held your back to his chest. “I’ll take care of you.”

His grip on your waist tightened when your tears hit his arm, sliding down his hand. You placed your hands under the left side of your head, shifting on the bed, pushing yourself closer to James.

“I’ll take care of you, doll. I’ve got you.” Your eyes fluttered closed again, the weight of sleep was starting to make you dozy. You could feel the sleepiness settling in as James whispered into your ear.

“I’ll make them pay. I’ll make them all pay.” He kissed the back of your neck. “I’ll make them all pay, sweetheart. Every one of them.”

—


	10. Chapter 10

“How we need another soul to cling to.” - Sylvia Plath

—

You woke up alone. The space behind you was cold, ice cold and there was no single sign that James had every been there.

Had you imagined all that happening? Had you imagined him warming you up, holding you while you were both naked to stave hypothermia? Did you imagine him vowing and promising to make every one of the bastards who tortured you, pay?

Were you out of your mind? Had the torture and isolation finally broken your sanity? Maybe James was never here at all, maybe you had become reclusive, sought some imaginary comfort deep in your mind?

Was James just a coping mechanism to deal with the madness you were thrust into?

No.

The name on your wrist had told you otherwise. He was real, he was your soulmate, and he was here. Somewhere. He was here for you. You were here for him. You had each other, you would always have each other.

Your souls were bound. You needed each other. And hydra knew that. That’s why you were here. Hydra was exposing your connection for the purpose of controlling James.

“Good morning, little dove.” The doctors voice filled James room through the speaker above the door. “I want you to get dressed. You are needed today for a little experiment.”

The collar that shocked you was gone, ripped off by James and crushed, it hadn’t been replaced. But still, there were other ways for you to be punished.

“You have 5 minutes.” You slipped out of James bed, the sheets and blankets carried his scent, they smelled like comfort, purely James.

“You have clothes in the bathroom.” The metal door swung open and you stepped out of the room, slinking to the bathroom.

Your bare feet padded on the industrial linoleum, the ugly pattern weaved in the grey colour had made you nearly dizzy, if you looked too long.

“Get dressed and stand by the main door. Wait for your handler to come get you.” You stepped into the bathroom and rubbed your eyes, glancing at yourself in the mirror.

You had dark bags under your eyes from a lack of sleep, your hair and skin looked lackluster, the shine gone from both. You could see the bruising caused by the agent who was giving you his ‘special treatment’.

You had bruises on your chin mirroring the shape of his fingers. You had his hand imprint around your neck in black and blue, but that was nothing compared to feeling his hands on your bare chest.

You still felt the disgust when he touched you, when he toyed with you. It had marred the sentimental nickname James had given you, the sweet affirmation was now blackened.

“One minute.” You looked at the drab clothes waiting for you.

It was pathetically droll that you were almost giddy about meeting with the doctor instead of the agents. The doctor wouldn’t kill you, he wouldn’t mar your skin with the imprints of his hands, his fingers. The doctor didn’t allude to potentially raping you.

“Now, little dove.” You shuddered as you yanked on the grey sweats and then the grey shirt.

You left the bathroom without looking at yourself in the mirror, you couldn’t look at yourself. You shuffled your feet, moved without picking up your feet, hands by your sides.

“You are so compliant.” You wiped a few tears from your cheeks, sniffling once. “You are of great use to Hydra.”

You stood there, waiting. You waited for a minute, and then another.

You were about to slink back to James room when you heard the click of the lock turning, the door swinging open. You stepped back as an agent stepped into the room, dressed in black, dressed in tactical gear.

“He’s ready for you.” Your arm was grabbed and you were drug down the hall and no short pace, your feet scraping against the cold floor. It should’ve been painful, but you felt dull.

“Stand there.” You were thrown into the same room with the brain scrambler, as you had called it.

There, you saw James hooked up, his mouth guard in and his eyes looking dead, lifeless. He must’ve just had the process completed, his memories wiped.

Did that worry you? Were you afraid that you too, would be wiped? He had remembered you from before, he had remembered your face, your name, your connection.

“This is the first official test for the songbird and the soldat.” The doctor who was in charge of this whole experiment, Dr. Müeller had stood off to the side, a chart in his hands, scrawling something.

“The songbird had arrived. Release the soldat and bring in the agent.” James was released, his mouth guard taken from him.

You watched as he staggered forward, his tactical gear displaying his lustrous metal arm, the red star etched on his bicep.

“James…” He looked at you, but there was no sign of recognition. “please…”

The door opened again and your attention was pulled away from James, away from your soulmate, to the agent who had left the bruises on your skin.

“Hello little dove.” He stalked toward you, eyes blackened with glee or lust, or both. “I told you I’d see you again.”

You took a step back, and then another. You held your hands in front of you, your eyes wide. You would put up a fight this time, even if you weren’t able to fight for long, you would fight anyway.

“I’m going to finish what I started.” He teached for you, grabbing your arm. “I’m going to destroy you.”

You were spun around, your back brought to his chest. He wrapped his arms around your waist, pressing his lips to your ear. “You think he’s going to help you?”

You felt his arousal digging into your back, his arousal pressing against your drab grey clothes. You started struggling, you started fighting and pulling away, using all your strength to rip yourself away from him.

“I’m going to fucking wreck you.” His hand slid to the broom of your shirt, pushing it up your body.

“Please! James please!” you began sobbing, your chest feeling like it would explode. “please help me! Soldat…” You tried to think of any words in Russian you may have picked up on.

“James… soldat, pozhaluysta, pomogite mne.” Your pronunciation was horrible you knew, you had been choppy in your speech, but it was enough. ( soldier, please, please help me)

When you shrieked as the agent bit your neck, it was enough. James, the Soldier, was unleashed.

It happened so fast, in a blur. The agents arms were around your waist, he was squeezing you and then he was ripped away.

You heard an animalistic growl from James, his eyes wild. He had thrown the agent to the floor and started pummeling him with his fist. You heard the sickening crunch of bones breaking, you saw the blood splattering on James’ face and chest.

“She. Is. Mine!” He lifted the agents head and smashed it into the floor below. “She. Is. Mine!”

No one offered to help, no one wanted to help. Everyone was watching as the Soldier destroyed the agent, obliterated him.

“James…soldat…” When you whimpered, when you called his name, you called him soldier, he dropped the agents lifeless body.

He turned and stalked toward you. He lifted you from the floor and held you to his chest, obstructing you from view. He hid you, he wrapped his arms around you possessively.

“Wonderful! It is just as I expected! Even with the memory wipe, there is a part of the soldier that will always recognize the songbird.” You dug your nails into his back, into your arms, into anything you could touch and grab.

“YA unichtozhu ikh vsekh. YA ub'yu lyubogo, kto prikosnetsya k tebe. ty prinadlezhish’ mne.” (i’ll destroy them all. i’ll kill anyone who touches you. you are mine.)

He turned his head after he whispered into your ear. He kissed into your hair, the action was a slip of the man you had seen before, a slip of the man James was before the soldier.

“YA ub'yu ikh vsekh. ya nikogda ne pozvolyu im vzyat’ tebya kuklu.” (i’ll kill them all. i’ll never let them take you doll)


	11. Chapter 11

“They slipped briskly into an intimacy from which they never recovered.” - F. Scott Fitzgerald

—

This felt like something entirely different. It felt like something had shifted. The failed mission that resulted in your being toyed with, the agent being pummeled to death by James’ hands, the protective nature that slipped through as an image of the man he was before all this shit.

It led to a deeper intimacy. A deeper understanding of each other. James was the soldier, the Winter Soldier, but he was also a man out of time, a man born in 1917, a man who fought in the war.

“The man on the bridge,” he spoke with concern, confusion. “I knew him.”

You curled up to him, your comfort was James. You needed him and he needed you. You needed him like you needed air, he was becoming your everything when you had nothing, when you were given nothing.

“I was…a soldier before this.” You placed your hand on his bare chest as he spoke, feeling his heart beat against your palm. “I fell of a train…”

“James…” You inched forward and placed a kiss on his cheek, a kiss on his jaw and one on his shoulder.

“I knew him.” His hands moved from your back to your waist, his thumb brushing against the slip of skin peeking out from your shirt. “his name was Steve.”

“Is that the mission you failed?” Your hand that was on Bucky’s chest trailed down his abdomen, fingers dancing across his skin.

“I knew him.” Your fingers dipped along the waistband of his black sweats. When your finger slipped under the waistband, you heard James’s inhale sharply.

His hand grasped your wrist, his thumb touching your veins on the underside. James’ ocean blue eyes were crinkled at the corners, the slightest sign of crows feet. He leaned into you, his hand still gripping your wrist, his nose brushing against your own.

“I knew him.” He pulled you into him, further, deeper. You shifted and straddled his waist, your hands on his shoulder, gripping his flesh and metal.

“James…” You brushed your lips against his own, the kiss soft and subtle, nervous. The kiss was the first intimate moment the two of your shared, it was the needle that burst the bubble.

It was intimacy evolving. It was you and James falling deeper into each other. It was the two of you giving each other everything, because that’s all you had. You had him and he had you.

“You’ve made me better.” You trailed your lips along his jaw, down his neck, speaking sweet words to the man who had become so damaged, so tormented by the hidden organization. “You’ve made me happy, James.”

His hands fell to your hips, gripping your flesh and bone through your pants. The clothes that Hydra gave you were made to be uncomfortable, made to make you irritated, keep you irritated.

But James hands on you, his hands gripping your hips, his thumbs brushing against your hip bones through the material, made everything feel like Egyptian cotton. It didn’t matter, all that mattered was James.

“You are my everything.” He spoke such intimacies in such a dark, figuratively, place. He spoke with such hope despite not knowing if you would ever get out of here. He spoke with gentleness, despite seeing him beat a man to death moments before.

“I want you.” You whispered against his neck as you began moving your hips against him, grinding against his thighs.

“Trakhni kuklu. ty ne znayesh’, chto ty delayesh’ so mnoy.” He grunt into your chest, his hands moving from your hips to your lower back. (Fuck doll. You don’t know what you do to me)

You gasped when his hand slipped between your thighs, his metal fingers rubbing against your covered cunt. Your head fell back as you whined at his touch, jerking your hips closer to his hand.

“I want you.” When he pushed stroked your harder through your clothes, your hands fell from his shoulders, to his arms. “James…soldat…”

James growled against your neck as he stood, his hands supporting your body, your legs wrapping around his waist. You were looking down at him, looking into his darkening blue eyes, blown with lust.

He carried you away from the living area to his room, the door still broken and bent, not quite fixed. He held you tightly against him as he walked toward the bed, his hands clutching you gently.

He set you down on the bed and hovered above you. His brown hair fell into his face, his blue eyes were focused on you. He placed his hand on the edge of your plain shirt, ripping it with ease and tossing the scraps away.

He moved his hands to your pants, yanking them down your legs, tossing them in the same direction as the torn shirt. As you were laying underneath him in nothing but your bra and underwear, you felt heat rising to your cheeks.

He was watching you with lust blow pupils, his bare chest rising and falling with each shaky breath. His hands twitched by his sides, an inter al war seeming to go on inside him.

“James…” You sat up and reached behind your back, fingers grabbing the hooks and eyes for your bra. After you tugged the hooks and eyes apart, you pulled the material away from you, throwing it to the side.

You moved your hands to the waistband of your underwear, hooking yours fingers into the plain cotton. You started to tug them off of you, only stopping when James placed his hand on top of yours.

“Let me do it.” He grunt and removed your hands, replacing them with his own.

His metal fingers hooked into your waistband on side, his other hand gripping the opposite side. He pulled them down tantalizingly slow, exhaling softly as he held the discarded material in his hands.

“You’re beautiful.” You moved back on the bed until your head was laying on the pillow, eyes locked on his.

You trailed your hand up and down your thigh, your bottom lip tugged into your mouth. You were laying naked on his bed, being driven crazy by desire for James. All you wanted was James, all you wanted was for him to touch you, love you.

“Are you having second thoughts?” The bed dipped with James weight as he crawled on top of you, hovered over you.

“I want you.” You smiled up at him, your arms snaking around his neck. You pulled him down to meet your lips, the mutual desire between you two needed to be spent. “I want you so bad.”

You spoke against his lips, you raised your leg and rubbed your thigh against his own. You could feel his thick, hard cock brushing against you, the soft grunts he made, sent pleasurable shivers right down your spine.

“Touch me, James.” You grabbed his metal hand and placed it against your bare breast, your nipple hardening almost immediately under the cool metal. “please…”

He was still for a moment and then the dam broke. He squeezed your breast, his metal hand fondling your flesh, his lips attached to your neck, sucking and nipping on your skin.

Your hands gripped his bare back, your head falling further into the pillow, giving him as much access as you could. You felt him grinding his hidden cock against your bare skin, the length and girth of him promising a fulfilling night.

“Please…” He pulled back a few inches, just enough to allow him to rid himself of the rest of his clothes.

When he closes the distance, he jerked his hips, the swollen head of his cock brushed against your swollen and dripping pussy lips. You raised your hips, needing more of him.

“You’re beautiful.” He whispered against your neck as he slowly pushed the swollen head of his cock into your waiting warmth.

“I promise I will take care of you.” He moved his lips away from your neck, speaking the affirmation against your lips instead of your neck. “I will protect you, doll.”

The gentleness is his touch, in his kiss was proof that James was more of the man than the soldier. He was becoming more of the man he was before he became a killer.

“I know. I trust you with my life.” He silenced you with a kiss, deep and passionate.

His lips moved against your own, silencing your pained whines as he pushed his hard length into your waiting heat. He held you as you squirmed from the girth and length of his cock. You were hardly a virgin, but you never had felt a cock as thick and long as James.

“Its okay.” He nipped your neck. “I’ve got you.” He embraced you, held you as he started thrusting against you.

The pain turned to pleasure within moments. Your whines of pain turned into breathy moans as James rocked into you, bringing you into bliss. It was delicious and addictive, and it felt so damn right.

Nothing else mattered but you and James. Nothing else existed in this moment. It was a moment shared between you two, made for you two. It was your intimate moment, it was your pleasure and James’ pleasure.

“You are my world, James.” It was true in this moment. He was all you had while you were here. He was your hope, your future.

“YA nikogda ne otpushchu tebya, dorogaya. YA nuzhdayus’ v tebe YA tebya lyublyu.” He rocked against you, he thrust into you. (I’ll never let you go, sweetheart. I need you, I love you)

It was James and you. This was you and your soulmate, coming together to feel, to love. This was something Hydra couldn’t control, couldn’t erase or twist into something perverse.

“James…” You dug your nails into his back as you felt yourself clamping down on his cock, felt your heat squeezing him, and then you were hit with the greatest pleasure you had ever known.

“Let it all out.” He spoke against your lips. “Give me your all.”

You cried your pleasure into his shoulder. You cried his name as the pleasure he gave you, he caused you, spread throughout your entire body, giving you a high you’d never felt before.

“James…” He kissed your neck as you pant his name like a mantra.

“Bucky…” He kissed your jaw. “You can call me Bucky.”

—


	12. Chapter 12

The reason it hurts so much to separate is because our souls are connected. Maybe they always have been and will be. Maybe we’ve lived a thousand lives before this one and in each of them we’ve found each other. And maybe each time, we’ve been forced apart for the same reasons. That means that this goodbye is both a goodbye for the past ten thousand years and a prelude to what will come.” - Nicholas Sparks

—

You held your head in your hands, tears streaming down your face. You couldn’t stop the shaky cried from leaving your mouth, along with the occasional muttered swear.

Today was worse than other days, the walls feeling like they were going to close in on you. You didn’t know how much time had passed from the night you were taken to the current day.

You had no idea what was going on in the outside world, you had no idea if your family had any idea that you were alive. You had no idea if Hydra had written you from society, destroyed your name, made you completely disappear.

You were scared and anxious. James, or Bucky as he said to call him, was leaving on another mission. Every time he walked out the door you were afraid that he wouldn’t come back. You were worried that your ‘see you later’ would be the last you said to him.

“Look at me.” You didn’t want him to go. You didn’t want him to leave. “Look at me.”

His hands touched yours, both metal and flesh. He pulled your hands away from your face, lowering them to your lap. He peered at you through his ocean blue eyes, his frown deepening when he saw the full extent of your tears.

Your eyes were red, nearly bloodshot. Your cheeks were stained with tears, your nose was dripping snot, your lip was trembling.

Your hands shook and your body trembled. “I don’t want you to leave. What if that’s the last time I see you?”

He stretched out his metal hand, the artificial appendage cupping your cheek. He licked his bottom lip, a trait you picked up on when he was deep in thought.

“I know we haven’t gotten to know each other in the traditional way, and this is going to sound really loaded but…” You sniffled. “you’re my whole world right now, Bucky. It’s you. You’re all I have.”

“Do you really think I would leave you here? Alone?” He inched forward while crouching in front of you, his metal thumb brushing your tear away.

“I still have a lot of blanks in my memory. I knew Steve. I knew I was called Bucky. I know I was born in 1917. I know I was a soldier and I fell from a train. The rest is blank.” He moved from his crouched position and came to sit beside you on the brown couch.

“They’ll wipe my mind. I may not remember Steve, I may not remember that my name is Bucky, but I will always remember you.” He wrapped an arm around your shoulders and pulled you into his side.

“I will always come back for you, to you. I won’t leave you.” He whispered into your hair.

“Bucky…” He cut you off with a tap to your chin.

“Sweetheart, look at me.” He whispered in your ear, his hands on you in the most gentle way. “Please.”

You shift beside him, you looked at him with blurry vision and wet cheeks. You looked at him with such desperation and concern. You loved him. You were sure of it.

“I will never leave you.” He brushed his nose against yours, your foreheads touching. “I promise you that I will always come back for you.”

You moved your head to his shoulder, your eyes closing as you focused on breathing in and out. After a minute, Bucky pulled you into an embrace, husbands rubbing circles into your back.

“I was a boat stuck in a bottle, that never got the chance to touch the sea. Just forgot on the shelf, no wind in the sails, going no where with no one but me. I was one in one-hundred billion, a burned out star in a galaxy, just lost in the sky wondering why, everyone else shines out but me.” You sung into his shoulder, the song one that you couldn’t get out of your head, and then listened to, over and over.

“But I came to life when I first kissed you. The best me has her arms around you, you make me better than I was before, thank God I’m yours.” You wrapped your arms around him, hugging him back, your nails digging into him.

“I love you, Bucky.” The tears you thought you stopped shedding, came back. But for an entirely different reason. “I love you James Buchanan Barnes.”

—

You avoided your own room since the night you and Bucky became intimate. You avoided it like it was cursed with the plague.

Instead, you took over Bucky’s room. You slept in his bed, you wrapped yourself in his blankets. The sheets and blankets that smelled like Bucky had brought you immense comfort while you were alone.

You kept yourself in his bed, in his blankets for a long as you could. Since Bucky was gone, and you didn’t know when he would return, this was your solace. You could close your eyes and imagine Bucky laying next to you, or enveloping you in his warmth.

You could imagine Bucky whispering sweet nothings in your ear as the two of you came together and then fell apart together.

Bucky’s bed was the spot where the two of you would engage in conversations that could be about nothing, like the most recent book you read. They could also be major game changers, like Bucky telling you he remembered parts of his life, remembered Steve.

“Songbird.” The speaker crackled. “Leave the room.”

You threw the blankets off and dove from the bed, bounding across the floor. Your first thought was that Bucky was back, Bucky had survived, he came back to you.

“Leave the room.” You slipped out and shuffled to the open living area/kitchen space, waiting for the doors to open, and for Bucky to come striding in.

“Songbird,” the door opened and two agents along with the doctors, strode in. “we have news about the soldier.”

You took a step back. You felt like someone just dumped ice cold water over your head. You felt a chill creeping up your spine, fear radiating off of you.

“Where’s James?” you felt tears pricking your eyes. “Where is he?”

“The soldat is missing, songbird. We believe he is dead.” You clenched your hands by your sides. “or he took his chance and left you behind.”

“NO!” You screamed at the doctor, your teeth grit. “He promised!”

“The connection between you and the soldat is strong, but given the chance to run for freedome and being caught again…it appears the soldat made his choice.”

You knew he was lying. You could see right through the fat bastard’s lies.

“What does this mean for you? Well with no solider to be controlled, we don’t need you anymore.”

Your arms were grabbed before you had a chance to fight back without being bound, but that didn’t stop you from kicking and screaming.

“Kill her.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the second last chapter 😭


	13. Chapter 13

If ever I was running, it was towards you.” - Jennifer Elisabeth

—

The doctor walked around the table, his finger trailing the metal as he walked. He was sad, he had to admit, that it was over already.

There was so much to be done, that could’ve been exposed between the soldat and you, but it wasn’t meant to be.

The soldat had escaped, the Pierce was no doubt dead. His experiment was over, and his glee at seeing the relationship between a man driven man by having his memories scrambled and blown to shit and his soulmate, had come to an end.

Still, it made the doctor wonder, what if you had been injected with the same serum as the soldat? What would happen? Would anything happen? You were going to die anyway in a few hours under his direction.

“Stop!” he held his hand up, his assistant and the few agents who had stayed behind, wait for his instructions.

“Bring me the injectable serum.” The doctor turned his attention to you.

Your arms and legs were restrained by thick leather straps, the same kind that was holding your head against the metal table. You were complacent, laying there motionless as you wait for something, anything.

“I thought you were going to kill me.” You sounded defeated, sounded like you had given up hope on the soldier coming to your rescue. But the doctor knew better.

The doctor knew from watching you while you had been here, that your hope was not so easily destroyed. You believed he would come for you, and you were a fool.

“I will, songbird. But while I have a living test subject, I may as well use the opportunity.” The doctor grabbed the syringe that was handed to him.

“This is much of the same serum that helped shape the soldat into what he is now.” The doctor pulled the cap off, the clear liquid inside the syringe was finally ready.

“This is my own invention of course.” He placed the point of the needle against the vein that was in the crook of your left elbow.

“We will see the results when it takes shape. A wonderful test subject, you are. I told you that you would be of great use to Hydra.” He tapped your nose in a twisted form of patently affection.

“Injecting the serum.” He pushed the plunger down, the clear liquid entering your veins. “Give me another. We will give her a double dose.”

He didn’t hesitate to administer the second dose. Just like he didn’t hesitate to grab his notebook and take down every observation he made. He was determined not to miss a moment, not to miss this chance of a lifetime.

“The effects should he starting-“ a scream, your scream, pierced the room.

It was desperate, dripping in pain and anguish. Your hands were clenched, your toes curled. You had tears streaming down your cheeks as you thrashed and pulled, tugged on the restraints.

“Does it burn? Does it feel like fire is flowing through your veins?” the doctor looked at the monitor that was displaying your heartrate, the warning beeping alerting him that your heart was racing.

“Oh poor little dove, body used for science.” He grinned, he smiled wide like the Cheshire cat. “You are giving me great insight into what I need to change in the formula.”

He took notes for another half hour before you passed our from the serum and the pain. When he was finished, he tucked the notebook under his arm and yanked his stethoscope from around his neck, placing the two ear pieces in, before placing the larger round portion against your chest.

“Heart rate is still high despite being passed out.” He pulled away and addressed the agents in the room.

“Let me know if she dies.” He walked out of the room and slammed the door behind him.

—

Hours passed. Days, months, years. You didn’t know. You didn’t know how much time had passed and you didn’t care. All you cared about was the liquid fire that was running through your veins.

You cared about the fire that seemed to be burning you from the inside out. You gave a damn about the constant pain and the agony you were going through, that started the moment the serum he gave you, started to give you symptoms.

“She isn’t dead.” Muffled voice of the doctor, surprised by you, by your strength.

“Give her another dose. I really want to push her limits.” The doctor pat your cheek, his beady eyes and crooked, yellowing teeth, were all you could see.

‘No’. You wanted to speak. ‘I can’t take anymore. No’.

“Yes sir.” You grit your teeth and clenched your hands. “Another dose.”

You felt the prick of the needle, the serum cold as it got pushed into your veins. You didn’t know what was going on, what was happening to you and you were scared.

Where was Bucky? He promised. He promised he would be here. Where is Bucky?

“Buck,” you slurred your words, your head lolling to the side as you started to pass out, too exhausted to scream from the fire burning your blood, burning your skin. “Bucky…”

Time passed again. You were in and out of consciousness, unaware of what was going on around you.

You could hear screaming coming from outside the room, blood curdling, horrified screaming. The kind of screaming that should’ve made your hair stand on end, but you didn’t do anything but stare at the door separating you from the chaos outside.

“Your time is up.” And agent hissed as he undid the straps binding you to the table. He grabbed your arm and pulled you off the metal table.

You groaned as you feel to the cold, hard floor. Your entire body was aching and sore. Your entire body felt far too hot.

“You’re not getting out of this alive.” You felt the cool barrel of a gun against your temple, the feeling should’ve scared you, should’ve made you jump, but you were out of it.

Whatever the gave you, it made you loopy.

“Say something you-” you heard a pop, and then a thud. You fell back, eyes coming face to face with the dead eyes of the agent who still had the gun in his hand.

You jerked back, and turned, your wide eyes looking at the man standing above you. He was wearing all black, something akin to what the agents wore, but instead of being afraid, you smiled.

“Bucky.” He bent down, setting his gun aside as he scooped you into his arms. He held you tight against his chest, whispering into your hair, speaking Russian.

“Shh, vse v poryadke, kukla. YA tebya ponyal. ya obeshchal, chto ya vernus’ za toboy.” (Shh, its okay doll. ive got you. i promised id come back for you)

You reached out to touch his face just as your eyes rolled into the back of your head and your hand fell limp.

—

Bucky watched you carefully. You were having adverse reactions to the concoction the doctor administered you, something of his own creation.

He tried finding out what he had done, but with the limited amount of time he had to get you out and get you somewhere safe, he couldn’t do much digging.

Still, he was relieved that you were out there, that you were safe with him. Even if the place you hold yourselves into wasn’t fancy, it would be safe.

“Bucky…” when you muttered his name, he grabbed the warm cloth he had waiting, and wiped your forehead.

“You’re safe. You’re not there anymore. Its alright.” He was remembering more. He was getting better glimpses into his past, he was remembering his childhood with Steve.

“Bucky…” You turned into his touch, your eyes opening slowly. “Bucky?”

You struggled to sit up, to which he pushed you to lay again. He stroked your cheek with his metal hand, and brushed your hair behind your ear with his real hand.

“I’m here, doll.” He leaned in and kissed your forehead. “I promised I’d come back for you, and I did. I’m here.”

He grabbed the warm cloth for the second time, and gently washed your face, just to help you feel cleaner. When he was done, he pull the blanket further up your chest, eyes roaming your hidden figure.

“I’m really gone…” the smile that grew on your face, sent Bucky back to a moment in time when he wasn’t the winter soldier, when he wasn’t a super soldier.

Your smile made him feel like a stupid kid from Brooklyn who caught sight of the prettiest girl in the whole god dammed world.

“But…where are we?” Bucky leaned in, his hand sitting at the back of your neck, holding you for close.

“Home. For now. We’re home.” He captured your lips in his, feeling free for the first time since Hydra took him.

He was free.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's over! And that makes me so sad because I loved writing it so much! Thank you to everyone who read it! Love you all!


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